Tag Archives: swim

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Open water – life without lanes *

Saturday morning, and I’m plunging my arms against the chopping water of West Grand Traverse Bay. Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe, on the right, because the waves are rolling in from the left. Trying to progress toward the orange buoy ahead, the one being buffeted about by these same waves, cresting just shy of a whitecap.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke breathe, on the right again. The orange buoy marks the midway point, when I turn and this relentless current becomes my friend, pushing me back to the beach now almost half a mile behind me.

Almost. Maybe 100, 200 yards to the buoy? Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe, lifting my head up this time, switching to breast stroke, to get a better visual of my floating target.

No progress. At least is doesn’t feel like it. Treading water, I lift my goggles, fogged because the water’s warmer than the 67-degree air. I’ve drifted, no surprise, off to the right. I’ll have to alternate to stay in a straight line.

So. Stroke, stroke, stroke, left. Stroke, stroke, stroke, right. OK. I’m doing all right. I’m encouraged to see another swimmer now, someone else stabbing their arms and legs into the gray water in perpetual motion, because, after all, that’s what you do in an open water swim. Stroke stroke, stroke, lef–

The wave smacks my face, filling my mouth with water. Instinctively I close it, rolling over to the relative shelter of the right. Gagging, I try to breathe air through my nose while water sloshes in my lungs. Coughing, I swing my legs vertical, treading water. My legs churn below, but I’m now a bobber in these waves, vulnerable to going under. Still coughing. I abandon treading and float on my back. Just keep swimming, Dory said. But first you’ve got to just keep breathing.

It works. Thirty seconds of floating and I’m breathing evenly again. But rolling over to swim again, I’m tired. I’ve lost the comforting sight of my comrade in the waves. Still, I just keep swimming.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, right. Stroke, stroke, stroke, THIS.

A timely appearance/cropped from Jan-Michael Stump original in Record-Eagle

Off to, yes, the left, over Leelanau County. And there in the water, I feel like Noah. It’s not just been a rough half-mile. It’s been a rough week, this first week of school, with e-mails and phone calls over my son’s behavior, as turbulent as the bay right now. It’s been a rough summer, as I wrote below.

But I also recall re-reading an entry from my journal dated March 5, almost exactly six months ago, when the waters of life were glassy-smooth. “Doing great. A+ school conference,” I wrote about my son.”It’s a good place now.”

I look at the rainbow again. Two hundred yards til the good place, I coach myself. Almost there.

I just have to keep swimming. And I do.

Bay, slain.

* Thanks to Carol South for the “life without lanes” analogy.
* Slick “S” courtesy of Daily Drop Cap.

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Turnabout feels really good

While drying my hair after my lap swim this morning, I noticed a girl I’d never seen before in the locker room mirror. A girl with Down syndrome. I quickly averted my eyes back to my own reflection, anxious not to seem like I was staring.

She took a spot in the same row with my locker, and a moment later, when I shut off the hair dryer, I noticed she was talking.  It kind of looked like to herself, but I wasn’t sure. “Excuse me?” I said, tentatively.

“Oh nothing.” She shook her head and looked down. Then, her excitement getting the better of her, she burst out, “Today’s my Special Olympics.”

“That’s great!” I said. “What stroke do you swim?”

“Freestyle.”

We chatted a bit more. I found out it was her second year competing, she swam two races, she’d been practicing really hard, and she was thrilled to be there today. I wished her good luck and to have fun, and left.

Outside the locker room, I recognized a co-worker among the other athletes and parents milling about. We were chatting when this same girl came out of the locker room and up to him. She was suddenly worried about something. My co-worker reassured her and sent her back into the locker room.

“Was that your daughter?” I asked, and then related our conversation, and how excited she was.

My coworker smiled as big as his daughter had. And so did I. It was the first time I’ve had a chance to give another special needs parent the kind of positive feedback about their child that so gladdens and gratifies me when I’m on the receiving end.

Sometime in the first year after I became a mother, I remember feeling like I finally understood the motivation of the human race — the drive to expend so much effort to nurture the next generation. In plainer terms, I suddenly got it when people bragged about their kids. And I wanted to listen, instead of finding a way to shut them up.

After finally gaining that entree, since entering the tribe of special needs parents a few years later, I’ve had to struggle mightily with the world’s tendency to focus on my son’s ASD traits/issues/challenges/pick your euphemism, I can damn well read between the lines. Can we please, for once, talk about strengths?!

Everyone knows the old aphorism, “If you can’t say nothing nice, don’t say nothing at all.” I offer this update: “If you can say something nice, speak up.”

Go on, go ahead. Make someone’s day.

– Drop cap courtesy of Daily Drop Cap.